


such a violent faulty thing

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angst, Animal Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Werewolves, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: There’s something out in the snow.





	such a violent faulty thing

**Author's Note:**

> happy almost halloween 
> 
> (title from “picking up branches after a wind storm” by sara j. grossman)

One of the last things Tyler’s mother said to him before he left was “don’t lose your gloves.” It wasn’t that he was prone to losing things - he actually had a pretty good track record when it came to neatness. But these were special gloves; expensive. She’d managed to scrounge up just enough to pay for the kind with the fur-lined insides, insisting that he would be more than grateful for the extra warmth.

And he _was_ grateful - for awhile, anyway. They kept his fingers from falling off for a solid week, which was useful considering he needed all ten to lay down railroad tracks. Some of the others weren’t as lucky: he watched three of them fall victim to frostbite, all opting for a hasty amputation because they couldn’t afford anything else. Besides, they were there to make money, not lose it.

The thought of those poorly-bandaged hands leaking blood and pus was enough to make Tyler cling a little more tightly to his mother’s special fur-lined gloves.

Then he lost one of them.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but it did, and he spent the next five minutes clawing around in the snow, blinded by the mist billowing out of his mouth. He was shaking.

 _Don’t_ _wanna_ _lose_ _my_ _fingers_. _Don’t_ _wanna_ _lose_ _my_ _fingers_. _Don’t_ _wanna_ -

“Lose something?”

Tyler stopped panicking just long enough to look up at... well, whoever this guy was. Dark curls peeked out from under a tattered bomber hat. His cheeks were stained pink. He was smiling.

“One’a my gloves,” Tyler mumbled, because it was the truth. It was starting to dawn on him how stupid he must’ve looked digging through the snow with tears in his eyes.

“Here.” His new friend pulled off one of his own gloves and tossed it to him. Blinking, Tyler turned it over in his hands, seeming almost confused - as if the bleached nothingness of the Iron Range had made him forget how kind people could be.

“You don’t have to-“

A shrug, and a smile. The teeth rivaled the white of the permafrost. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” Tyler was hesitating, giving him a wide-eyed look; watching him nod slow and sweet. After a few more seconds of careful consideration, he tugged on the glove and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Joshua,” said Joshua.

“Tyler.” He stuck out the newly-gloved hand. Josh wasted no time shaking it - gentle. “Where’re you from?”

“Ohio,” came the reply once their fingers unraveled. Tyler’s face lit up like an arsonist’s best work.

“Me too. What part?”

Josh shrugged again, almost embarrassed this time. “Just a little farm near Columbus.”

“Nice t’meet you, Joshua,” Tyler said, and smiled, because it felt good to have a friend in the middle of nowhere. It was all too bright; too sterile. God’s biggest, loneliest hospital.

“You too.” The teeth flashed again, shiny as ever. An endearing smile, Tyler decided. An endearing person.

Cute, almost.

That night the men gathered together for a hasty bonfire, exhaling cigar smoke and hoarse laughter. Tyler watched them pass around flasks and ghost stories and brotherly insults and wanted nothing more than to join in - but off to the side was his new friend, tucked away in a pocket of darkness and blinking up at the sky, bewitched.

So Tyler approached him, flopping down in the snow; trying his best to ignore the way his bones whined like a pack of arthritic dogs. Tried to ignore how old that made him feel.

Twenty-four and already worse for wear. Scary. It scared him.

Josh was startled at first, whipping his head around to stare at him with saucers for eyes. Tyler acknowledged those saucers by grinning all crooked and saying, "Easy, farm boy. M'not gonna hurt you."

"Didn't know it was you," Josh said - relieved, not defensive. The magic of the moon had made itself at home in his eyes, dark and twinkling and borderline eerie. A good eerie. The kind that made people wonder.

"Sure you didn't." Tyler stole a glance up at the object of his fascination: a pitch-black picnic blanket peppered with stars instead of crumbs. "See something you like up there?"

"What? Oh." Blinking, Josh followed Tyler's eyes, and just like that he was spellbound all over again. It was with bated breath that he smiled and said, "It's real pretty."

"What is? The moon?"

Josh hummed. "All of it."

Finally looking back over at him, Tyler spent a few long moments studying the purity of his moonwashed face, only stopping to gesture at the twine around his neck. "What's that?"

The spell broken, Josh reached down into his coat to untuck the tattered hunk of fuzz that dangled from the necklace. "Rabbit's foot. My mama gave it to me before I left."

"For good luck?" Tyler asked, and Josh nodded.

"For good luck."

Tyler reached out to clap him on the shoulder - a show of solidarity. "You'll be just fine. I promise."

"I sure hope so," Josh said, still smiling. Always smiling.

Just fine.

 

;

 

The first body was found before the sun had a chance to claw its way above the peroxide skyline. Like most spontaneous corpses, it attracted a crowd; Tyler had to fight his way through the horde to know what was going on.

Bad things. Bad things were going on.

The term _ripped_ _to_ _shreds_ didn't even begin to describe the mess of torn limbs and frayed skin strewn carelessly by the tracks, staining the snow an uncomfortable pink. Tyler had never seen anything like it - prayed he wouldn't have to see it again. Something hot and thick was clogging his stomach, his chest, his throat, but he didn't throw up. He could only look.

"What happened?" Josh's voice, nervous and sleepy at the edges. He was working his way through the crowd, and if Tyler's mouth hadn't been slick with bile, he would've told him to stay back. Maybe that was silly of him. Josh was twenty-five, and from the country. No need to protect his innocence.

Besides, there was no hiding this. It was obscene. It was _everywhere_.

A few moments later and Josh was at his side, and Josh was staring, and Josh was choking down liquid vomit. Tyler had nothing to say - no way to explain it.

"What _happened?_ " Josh repeated, but this time his voice cracked, and Tyler really hoped he wouldn't burst into tears. He seemed sensitive that way.

"Somebody's gotta write his wife." It wasn't an answer to Josh's question, but it started a conversation. That was good. Silence only ever makes things worse.

"Can't even tell who it is," mumbled somebody else. "Or was."

"Gotta wrap it up," Tyler insisted, quiet. "Bury it somewhere."

"I'll help."

Much to Tyler's surprise, Josh was the first and only man to volunteer, even with the tremble in his knees and the hitch in his throat. He had yet to tear his eyes away from the maelstrom of human remains; maybe he was just desperate to put that shit in the ground. Tyler couldn't blame him.

Once the crowd dispersed, they used one of the three quilts Tyler's mother sent with him to bundle up the body. It still smelled like bonfire smoke. Josh's hands were shaking.

"What do y'think got 'im?" Tyler asked, soft and a little sad, and all the while the tears in Josh's eyes threatened to spill over and run races down his cheeks.

"I dunno." He was sniffling. Tyler regretted the question. "Some kinda animal I guess."

"A bear?"

Josh shook his head, and Tyler couldn't help but trust his word. Surely someone brought up in the countryside had a pretty firm enough grasp on all things animal. "Couldn't be. The bitemarks weren't spread out enough."

Tyler raised both eyebrows. "A wolf?"

A nervous pause. And then, "Maybe."

"Huh." Tyler's eyes raked the backdrop of ice in one slow sweep. "Think it'll come back?"

Helpless, Josh could only shrug. Blood had soaked through the fabric and was starting to drip, leaving copper inkblots on the world's largest sheet of paper. Still searching for something that wasn't there to begin with, Tyler hummed, thoughtful; Josh looked over at him all timid and wide-eyed and said, "What?"

Still squinting, still seeking, Tyler said, "I just didn't think anything could survive out here, y'know? Too cold. Nothing to eat."

"Nothing but us."

That's when Tyler finally turned to meet his eyes, still round with the fear of a hunted animal - primitive but painfully human. Maybe there was some innocence to protect after all.

"Whatever it is, I doubt it'll have the guts to strike twice," Tyler pointed out as soft and sweet as he could manage. He wasn't used to spinning comfort out of nothing, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and this was a land bred from desperation.

And frost. So much fucking frost.

They buried the bundle of odds and ends in a snowdrift; marked it with leftover wood from the bonfire. A modest cross, scorched at the edges and always in the corner of Tyler's eye. Mocking him? No. But it could've been serving as a threat, or a warning, or a reminder.

He carried on.

 

;

 

One victim turned to two, then three, then seven. A solemn row of crosses stood crooked like criminals awaiting death by firing squad. The sky seemed to rain blood.

Tyler didn’t mention any of this to his mother. No, he filled his letters with _I_ _love_ _you’_ s and _I_ _miss_ _you_ ‘s and _I_ _can’t_ _wait_ _to_ _see_ _you_ ‘s. Maybe part of him feared he only had so long to say those things.

 _Just_ _three_ _more_ _months_ , he wrote. The pen trembled. The ink bled. _Three_ _more_ _months_ _before_ _I_ _can_ _come_ _home_.

Josh sent letters to his family, too. He never got a reply. Tyler hated that.

Fights started to break out. Some were outraged that they were still expected to work; others refused to lose their pay after months of busting their asses to the rhythm of clicking molars and cracking joints.

It was during one of these fights that Tyler looked over at Josh, too busy rubbing his arm and chewing his lip to argue - both nervous tics. Nobody could blame him for being twitchy.

"What's your take on all this?" Tyler asked, genuinely curious. Josh was always so fucking quiet. There had to be an opinion in there somewhere.

Releasing his lip from between his teeth, Josh blinked a few times, thoughtful. Tyler watched him turn over the question in his brain, again and again and again; when he finally opened his mouth, the response was a fear-colored whisper: "I'm... scared. So scared."

It broke Tyler's heart.

"M'not gonna let anything happen to you," he insisted, almost angry - not at Josh but at whatever was hunting them. "I swear."

And because the others were caught up in one of many screaming matches, Josh felt safe enough to lean against him, shoulders bumping and pale mouths leaking steam. The naïve part of Tyler’s brain wished the next ninety days could be nothing but those few seconds on loop: just them, and their shoulders, and the steam. No crosses. No snow. No tracks.

But the naïveté faded soon enough, and they went back to work. They always went back to work.

That night Tyler laid wide awake in his tent, haunted by the ache in his bones and all the ghosts stranded out in the snow. He wanted to let them in - tell them he was sorry.

A bitter thing, to die where God can’t reach you.

He was just beginning to make peace with the dead and nod off when he heard the crackle of snow outside - not heavy footsteps but careful ones. Thoughtul.

 _Animals_ _are_ _careful_ , he thought while reaching for his shotgun, eyes on the entryway and heart doing a slow crawl up his throat; into his mouth. He could taste it. His lungs were getting starved out, he was _choking_ , he was aiming, he was aiming, he was aiming-

"Tyler?"

He was expecting garbled words, a black tongue, teeth, but it was Josh's voice, Josh's _face_ , and he was scared.

"Please don't. I didn't mean to- I don't wanna- _please_."

That same primal fear was shining in the whites of his eyes, bright and pathetic enough to make Tyler lower the gun. His entire body was riddled with shockwaves that made his voice fall apart when he finally opened his mouth and said, "You're a fucking idiot, you know that? Christ, Josh. I could've... _God_."

"I know. I just..." Josh swallowed, embarrassed, and Tyler forgave him. "Just don't wanna be alone tonight."

Chest deflating as the tension melted out of him, Tyler patted the space beside him, suddenly gentle. "C'mere, then."

Once he was given an invitation Josh dragged himself deeper into the tent and curled up, looking the smallest Tyler had ever seen him. He laid open-mouthed and trembling, face going numb but too shy to object. So Tyler shifted closer, and closer, and closer, and wrapped his arms around him; pulled him snug against his body's hospitality. Josh went deathly still then, like a corpse, and Tyler knew his snow-logged brain was struggling to process the tenderness of it. No bonfire was big enough to match the glow of having Tyler twisted around him; protecting him. That was true warmth.

"Is this..?" Josh's voice was the only part of him that kept quivering - not from the cold but from the thought of being found like this. "Is this okay?"

"No one's gonna find out," Tyler insisted and left it at that, burying his nose in the hair curled soft and dark against the back of Josh's neck. He heard him suck in air - could feel the slamming of his heart against his ribs. Like someone trying to kick down a door.

"Okay."

They slept.

 

;

 

Every night Tyler's tent morphed into a safehaven for holding each other like the world was going to the dogs. And, in a way, it was. The body count climbed higher and higher and all they could do was keep touching, keep squeezing, keep pressing chapped kisses to each other's throats. It wasn't ideal, wasn't normal, but it was all they had.

Josh was all Tyler had.

Sometimes he would hesitate in Tyler's fingers, wide-eyed, mouth twitching helplessly as if trying to say _this_ _is_ _wrong_. But the words would never come out. They wouldn't come out because he didn't really want to believe it.

There were nights when Josh slipped out of Tyler's arms and left the tent, tears shining hot in his eyes and paying no mind to the frantic whispers of what could be out there, he just needed a second, just one second, Tyler, _please_.

Tyler always fell asleep before he came back, but Josh would be there in the morning, doe eyes and limbs intact.

They kept it up for a good eight weeks before getting caught. Maybe it was stupid of them to believe they could spend three months fooling around without anyone noticing. But someone did notice - a gaunt scarecrow of a man with a Minnesotan accent thick enough to get lost in - and he made a point of moving uncomfortably close to Tyler while they were lining the tracks, pry bar slung over his shoulder like a threat.

Tyler hated him before and after he opened his mouth.

"Saw somebody sneak outta your tent last night." Casual, like he wasn't implying the worst possible scenario. The eyes were glacial.

"Yeah?" Both eyebrows raised, Tyler straightened up, giving him a look cold enough to freeze the deepest layer of Hell. But this man was already frozen. He didn't shake. Didn't speak. So Tyler was forced to curl his lip and ask, "Whaddya want from me?"

The skeleton shoulders rose and fell. So fucking casual. Tyler hated him. "Nothing. Just don't like the thought of you two kids fuckin' to keep warm."

And Tyler had to talk around the lump in his throat. Tyler had to say, "We're not."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," the man said, and smiled, and it took every ounce of willpower not to punch him in his off-white teeth.

The itch to commit grand acts of violence against this motherfucker in particular only got stronger when Tyler turned and saw Josh staring at him from down the line, eyes round with questions he didn't want to answer. So he just shook his head and went back to work, because it was easier to carry on. Easier to lose himself in the numbness and the steel and save his passion for the evening hours. That's when he could scrape his teeth against Josh's collarbone and tell him how they were going to get away, they were going to leave this shit behind and tuck themselves in some secret corner of the world. Somewhere only the sunlight could reach them, _really_ reach them, all the way down to their bones.

Because the replica dangling overhead wasn't the sun, it was a fluorescent light burning bright enough to blind. This was God's hospital at the end of the world, and He was losing patients every day. Tyler didn't care about his paycheck anymore. He wanted out. He wanted Josh.

But maybe God was trying His best to fix things. Maybe finding the scarecrow man with his intestines on the wrong side of his stomach the next morning was His way of apologizing for the state of things.

Maybe things were too far gone, anyway.

 

;

 

Josh went missing.

Tyler clung to the fact that nobody could find the body. No blood, no brains - nothing. Which meant he could still be out there, terrorized and wandering around in the snow. Tyler had to find him. Tyler had to bring him home. Not back to the tracks, because that was just a one-way ticket to misery, but somewhere safe.

Nobody else felt the need to join him. They were all perfectly happy to accept that Josh was laying dead in some snowdrift with his guts spilled across the ice and his ribs cracked in two. Tyler snarled, begged, cursed their names, but all he got was a half-hearted _good_ _luck_.

It was better than nothing.

He left early in the morning, black bandana pulled up to his eyes and toting a shotgun. The former would keep his face from going numb; the latter would protect him from man-eating night beasts with violent tendencies.

There was no trail to follow: no footsteps, no blood, no shredded clothing. So Tyler could only start walking and hope to find some sign of life in a polar wasteland that stretched on forever.

He was stupid. This was stupid. This was hopeless. This was him, and the snow, and the sky, and the thought of earnest farm boys with their tender curls and dark eyes and whispers of _I'm_ _so_ _scared_ , _but_ _I_ _love_ _you._  

The curls drove him. The eyes drove him. The whispers drove him. He was machine powered by love alone. 

Eventually the tents and the tracks were swallowed up by all the white, and Tyler felt relief bloom wild and weird in his chest. It was as if he was stepping out of a shitty dream and into a cryptic one - still scary, but not nearly as frustrating. There were no laws here. He didn't have to pretend that people would care if he got buried under a snowbank and was never seen again, because there _were_ no people. Just him.

And Josh. And the monster.

He walked until the line between the snow and the sky blurred. Every so often he would pull the bandana down and yell Josh's name into the big colorless nothing. He never got a response.

Someone heard him, though. Someone was dancing in the far corner of his vision, just out of reach. Someone was making hot panic pool in the pit of his stomach - the only warmth he'd felt in hours.

Someone was following him.

The naïve part of Tyler's brain wondered if it could be Josh. But no, that wasn't possible, because Josh was gentle, and kind, and made flowers bloom in his chest cavity. This thing didn't make him feel gentle. It didn't make him feel kind. It made him feel alone, and afraid. It covered the flowers in arsenic and watched them wilt.

Tyler turned towards it anyway. He was tired, so tired, and he knew he couldn't outtrun it, so he turned. He turned, and he waited, and he watched it crawl out of the brightness, bastard child of the snow.

Tyler had never seen a wolf before - not in real life, anyway. He thought of Aesop's fables. The Three Little Pigs. Little Red Riding Hood. He thought of trickery. He thought of blood. 

It approached him with eyes like twin harvest moons, black mouth open and billowing steam. Tyler couldn’t feel his fingers but he tightened them around the shotgun anyway; used his other hand to tug the bandana down past his chin.

 _Here_ _I_ _am_. They seemed to say it at the same time. _Now_ _what?_

But Tyler knew what happened next. Because this was the part where he looked down a barrel that led straight between those jinxed eyes, waiting for movement that never came. Nothing changed. Tyler hated it - too easy. Things were never this easy.

“You’re just gonna stand there and let me..?" His hands were shaking. "You’re not even gonna try? Do you care?" 

It cared.

Tyler let the trigger fly anyway, and he was finally the one who stained the snow pink, who watched the body teeter, and topple, and lay defaced with permafrost for a casket. He should've felt relieved, or powerful, or _something_.

He'd never been more helpless in his life.

He kneeled beside the carcass like one kneels beside a dying child: tenderly, and with shame. He was ashamed when he tried to gather the body up in his arms, desperate to hold it, cradle it, apologize, there was blood leaking all over his clothes and he could do nothing but bury his face in the frost-kissed fur, weeping.

They took his picture for the paper with that body - lifted like a prize, not a casualty. There were tears in Tyler's eyes, but he was smiling, because you have to smile if you're going on the front page, and all the while the other men clapped him on the back and called him a hero. 

He felt like a murderer. He was ashamed.

Once the journalists cleared out he disappeared into his tent, bags under his eyes and mouth twitching. There was nothing to say. He was ashamed.

Tyler pulled the rabbit's foot necklace out of his pocket with fingers that trembled. He'd pried it off the corpse because he was selfish, and ashamed, and unlucky. He was squeezing it. He was whispering, "God, Josh, I'm so sorry."

Tyler was a murderer.

 


End file.
